


Intertwined

by Hammocker



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Developing Relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Holding Hands, Kissing, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Porn with Feelings, dear god, geralt has a lot of feelings, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/Hammocker
Summary: It was a rare instance where Dandelion didn’t have to spend the most of, if not the whole night performing. A party without a job for him to do was a devil's playground indeed, but Dandelion had his eye on just one goal that night.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 219





	Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very long time since I last posted a Witcher fic and all I can say is: you darn kids! Back in my day, there were only two Witcher games, only three of the books had been translated into English, and the only TV show was Poland exclusive. Also, barely anyone would touch the Geralt/Dandelion tag, or any Witcher-based tags, and we- Well, actually, we didn't like it very much. In all seriousness, it makes my little hipster heart soar to see Geralt/Dandelion finally get the attention it deserves. Such a lovely pair, aren't they? Also, get off my lawn.
> 
> Also also, funniest thing, I still haven't finished Witcher 2 (I'm getting close!) and I haven't even touched Witcher 3 after seven (Seven?! What the fuck, time?) years since dipping my toe into writing Witcher fanfics. So, here we have a fic mostly based on the characterization of Witcher 1. You should give Witcher 1 a chance if you haven't. Fantastic game, fantastic story, absolutely drop-dead gorgeous soundtrack, the visuals are weird and jank, but it's worth it. But enough with my old person rambling.
> 
> Thanks to the always wonderful [SocialDeception](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialDeception/pseuds/SocialDeception) for putting up with me throughout writing this.

It was a rare instance where Dandelion didn’t have to spend the most of, if not the whole night performing, and the possibilities for the night seemed overwhelming. He could enjoy the experience of dancing out among the patrons, perhaps even with a lovely lady of the hour, or…

Dandelion’s eyes fell on Geralt, hunched over the bar with a drink, and a rush of excitement coursed through Dandelion. Now that was an idea, he decided, the thought of convincing his friend to dance etching its way into his mind. It would either turn out very well, or, at least, they’d have something to laugh about in the morning. Thinking not a second more, Dandelion hurried over and grabbed him by the bicep.

“Come on, Geralt!”

As he made his dash away from the bar, though, he found himself anchored to the spot by the immovable rock that was Geralt of Rivia. He looked back only to find Geralt giving him an unimpressed stare, a glass of what Dandelion guessed was Temerian rye vodka in his hand.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Dandelion said, gesturing towards the partygoers who were already dancing. “There’s fun to be had!”

Geralt didn’t so much as flinch, unfazed by the request. “I don’t dance.”

Dandelion laughed, and never once took his hand off of Geralt.

“Of course you dance,” Dandelion laughed. “What is it you do out in the world, slaying monsters, navigating combat with finesse, twirling and jumping around?”

“That’s knowing where to put your feet in a fight.”

“Exact same thing in a dance.”

Geralt’s stare only grew more unimpressed. “You never told me you were a seasoned fighter, Dandelion.”

“One doesn’t need to practice to observe, my moody witcher,” Dandelion scoffed. "And I’ve seen quite enough of you to say that you would make for an excellent dancer.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and took another swig of his vodka.

“You can’t just stand there and get drunk, Geralt,” Dandelion implored. “It’s a party.”

“Can’t I?” Geralt asked, tilting his head to the side. “I thought that was what parties were all about.”

Well, with enthusiasm and argumentation checked off the list, Dandelion determined to use his final resort.

“Come on, humor me for a while,” he said, giving Geralt a gentle smile. “Please?”

Geralt stared at him for a long while, his perpetual poker face as staunch as ever. For an instant, he glanced away before letting out a long sigh.

“Fine,” he agreed at last, placing his empty glass on the bar. “But you’ll be picking up my tab.”

Dandelion couldn’t help but make a coy remark. “Why, of course. A gentleman always pays for his lady.”

“Keep talking like that and you’re going to find you have far fewer adventures to sing about.”

Despite the severity of Geralt’s words, his tone held no fire, and it only made Dandelion laugh.

“Geralt, have I ever told you how ridiculous you can be?”

It was with that that Dandelion had secured a rare victory in their battle of wills. Geralt grunted, but didn’t speak, and as Dandelion tugged on his arm once more, he followed along. A bit giddy, Dandelion led the two of them to the center of the room, where the music could be heard best.

Dandelion closed the distance between them, and, to Geralt’s credit, he was indeed incredibly stiff as Dandelion took one of his hands in his own and placed the other on Geralt’s hip. If Dandelion hadn’t known better, he might have said that his burly, confident companion was nervous. But then, he could only ever guess at what went on in Geralt’s mind.

If he’d been feeling ponderous, Dandelion might have marvelled at exactly how obvious it was that Geralt was far more heavily muscled than himself. And, while they were often travelling companions, it wasn’t often that Dandelion had gotten close enough to take in Geralt’s scent, like musk and leather and masculinity. He wondered if Geralt was thinking the same.

“Now, it’s as simple as knowing where to put your feet,” Dandelion explained hurriedly, knowing full well that Geralt would catch on. “Watch where I step first and follow me.”

He took a step back, not keeping time yet, and sure enough, Geralt mirrored him, stepping forward.

“See? You’re a natural, Geralt.”

Geralt grunted, and his eyes cast downward, but Dandelion got the sense that he was avoiding eye contact more than he was watching either of their feet.

“Now just keep with the beat of the drum, one, two, one, two.”

Dandelion took steps forward, and was just as readily followed by Geralt stepping back. It seemed impossible that this was Geralt’s first time dancing for how gracefully he moved. Perhaps Kaer Morhen ought to offer dance lessons to those less combat inclined.

With Geralt’s capability established, Dandelion figured it was high time to have a little fun. He added a bounce into his steps, hoping that he would similarly be mimicked. While Geralt wasn’t quite as flamboyant, he did indeed follow suit.

Dandelion couldn’t help having a laugh. “What was that about you not dancing, Geralt?” he murmured, not really expecting Geralt to hear him let alone reply.

Of course, Geralt’s ears and tongue were as sharp as ever. “Is this dancing?” he said. “I hadn’t realized we’d begun.”

Dandelion huffed, even as a grin crossed his face. So Geralt wanted more of a challenge? Well, the tune hadn’t reached its peak yet.

In addition to their back and forth steps, Dandelion motioned to add side and rotational steps to the roster, utilizing as much space around them as he could manage. As the music reached its first crescendo, he let go of Geralt’s hand to fan out, spreading his free arm to reach towards the ceiling. Geralt played his part perfectly, serving as an anchor point for just an instant before pulling Dandelion back in and taking his open hand back.

That was when a change came in the witcher, or, at least, it was when Dandelion noticed a change. All of a sudden, in a kind of magic trick, it was Dandelion following Geralt’s movements, Geralt who was directing the flow of the dance. He’d reversed the direction of their quick circles, and seemed to direct the ever-increasing tempo of their musical accompaniment. If Dandelion wasn’t so focused on keeping up, he might have simply stared in delight and amazement.

Geralt himself seemed to have changed, allowing a lilt to his movements, just enough that Dandelion was sure no one else would have noticed. And, if he wasn’t utterly mistaken, Dandelion swore that he saw the slightest of smiles tugging at Geralt’s lips. It all felt so- personal, like the two of them had absconded to their own world.

Of course, that was far from the truth. It was only then that Dandelion realized that the two of them had attracted a bit of a crowd. What had been a dance floor with one or two other couples had practically become a stage. Men and women had approached to watch, giving the two of them plenty of space, but no privacy to speak of. Dandelion kept time nonetheless, hoping that Geralt would pay them no mind.

To his surprise, Geralt didn’t seem to care or even notice that he was being watched. His focus was true, and maybe Geralt felt even more caught up in his own world than Dandelion.

With hardly a warning, Dandelion felt Geralt release one of his hands while raising the other. Out of pure instinct and perhaps a little mind reading, Dandelion managed to comply, turning in a brisk pirouette and letting out a laugh.

“I need to make you dance more often,” he commented as Geralt took his hand once more. “I’d no idea how much fun you could be.”

Geralt gave no reply, perhaps lost in the moment, but more likely unwilling to give away any more feelings on the matter than he already had. Right then, Geralt had given himself a job, and by the gods, he was going to do it.

Strange were the ways of the witcher.

But Dandelion couldn’t complain. He was just as happy to follow as he was to lead, and Geralt made for an excellent leader.

At the same time, Dandelion couldn’t help but note that Geralt’s aversion to eye contact had evaporated. Indeed, he seemed hyperfocused on Dandelion’s face, giving the man perhaps the best look at Geralt’s eyes he’d ever had. Bright gold and gleaming, slitted like a cat’s. It was no wonder that Geralt was intimidating, even to the most monstrous of creatures, but to Dandelion they seemed to have a warm, welcoming glow.

There was hardly any time for Dandelion to relish the moment, though, before he was being prompted to pirouette every few seconds or so, clockwise, then counter-clockwise, and back again. It might have been repetitive if it wasn’t so much fun, using Geralt as a sort of anchor. It was odd; he’d known Geralt for years and yet had so rarely felt the man’s sheer physical mass, and certainly not in the context of practically hanging off of Geralt by one hand.

Dandelion might have chuckled at the image of the two of them, roles reversed, Dandelion struggling to keep both himself and Geralt standing.

As the music slowed, Geralt ceased his physical demands of Dandelion in favor of keeping the two of them in close proximity. So close, in fact, that it was nigh impossible for Dandelion to avoid the vivid glow of Geralt’s eyes. As the two of them rotated, hand-in-hand, it was hard not to get lost in the witcher’s gaze, and Geralt seemed just as lost in his.

It was as though some cheeky sorceress had cast a spell on the two of them, but Geralt’s medallion had yet to vibrate. Perhaps a different sort of magic was at play. Or Dandelion was allowing his penchant for the poetic take hold of him.

Whatever had happened, Dandelion found the two of them edging even closer, their abdomens nearly touching, faces closer than Dandelion had ever thought possible under normal circumstances. And yet, there they were, Geralt almost seeming ready to lean forward and...

Then, all at once, as soon as it had begun, the dance was over. The music had reached its peak one last time before fading to nothing, and Geralt stopped with it.

For an instant, silence, just the two of them staring into the other’s eyes in a sort of trance. It was Geralt who broke it first, clearing his throat and easing his grip. That was when Dandelion remembered that they most certainly weren’t alone. Of course, the people needed a proper ending, and Dandelion broke Geralt’s gaze for just long enough to make a declaration.

“Ladies and gentleman, we’ve successfully taught a witcher to dance!”

A cheer erupted, though, Dandelion wasn’t sure if everyone participating so much as knew what he’d said. It was something to celebrate; that was all that mattered.

All the while, Geralt seemed completely unmoved, standing just where he’d left off. Dandelion had fully expected him to steal off into the night as soon as the display was over, but no. He stood still and straight, said nothing, and didn’t so much as acknowledge his being watched. All he seemed to want was to watch Dandelion with an unreadable expression.

It was a bit unnerving, but at the same time, Dandelion felt some color in his cheeks. What wheels were spinning in Geralt’s head?

Thankfully, the audience dispersed soon after, leaving himself and Geralt to their own devices. Only then did Geralt speak.

“Thanks for pushing,” he said, terse and to the point, as he always was.

Dandelion gave a modest laugh. “Always happy to point you in the right direction.”

There was more. He could see it in Geralt’s eyes, emotions that he couldn’t find quite the right words for. If he’d only try to get them out, then perhaps Dandelion could help him refine.

“You don’t dance, hm?” he teased.

Geralt shrugged. “Not for just anyone.”

“A compliment!” Dandelion chirped. “Well, I’m told I can be quite persuasive.”

“Hm,” was Geralt’s noncommittal reply.

Well, when the subtle routes failed, what could one do but be blunt?

“Geralt, do you want to talk? In private, perhaps?”

The relief was so inconspicuous and yet so obvious all at once on Geralt’s face. “I’d appreciate that.”

Dandelion smiled, so very charmed by just how awkward Geralt could be. Let no one ever claim that Geralt was perpetually self-assured.

Dandelion obliged him, and led the way up the inn’s stairs towards the room he’d rented for the week or so he and Geralt intended to stay in the village. It was technically Geralt’s room as well as Dandelion’s, but, as far as an observer could tell, Geralt made a habit of only sleeping in a bed about once a week. Dandelion could only imagine the places Geralt chose to rest while he was out in the field.

After shutting the door behind the two of them, Dandelion turned to find Geralt in a strange, perhaps perplexed state. He was watching Dandelion, that much was obvious, but without turning his head fully. If Dandelion was reading him correctly, he must have been wondering what he needed to do now, how to approach whatever was on his mind.

So, considerately, Dandelion closed the gap between them, cocking his head to look Geralt in the eyes.

“Geralt,” he said, gently. “You’re never this quiet unless you have something to say.”

“I don’t think-” Geralt started as his eyes locked with Dandelion’s.

God, those eyes were so golden. Had Dandelion really never noticed before today? Maybe he had, but he’d taken it for granted. It crossed Dandelion’s mind that Geralt could have, perhaps, been manipulating him with one of his signs, but that simply didn’t seem like something Geralt would do. He played himself as a stoic, stone-hearted monster hunter, but Dandelion knew exactly how sensitive he was with personal matters and relationships. Dandelion couldn’t see Geralt manipulating anyone into- whatever it was Geralt was trying to accomplish here.

Geralt seemed just as fascinated by Dandelion’s eyes, lost in thought perhaps. Pondering. His eyes shifted to the side, before-

Geralt lunged forward and pressed his lips to Dandelion’s. Dandelion’s heart skipped a beat, and he didn’t think he’d been so surprised at a kiss in years and years. His eyes went wide as he tried to process what was happening, why-

Geralt could kiss better than any of the women Dandelion had been with in his time. It felt good, it _was_ good, and Dandelion felt his eyes flicker shut as he melted into it, kissing back in turn.

But just as soon as Dandelion was finding a rhythm, pressing deeper in, Geralt abruptly pulled back. He stared Dandelion down, his face speaking volumes, mouth just barely ajar.

“Uh,” he rumbled, so very much like himself and yet so uncertain.

It was so comical and even, perhaps, cute, that Dandelion couldn’t help but laugh. That was a mistake, as Geralt paled and his expression went from surprise to horror before he forced his expression back into his standard neutral frown. He then turned to make a swift exit.

“Geralt, no, no, don’t leave,” Dandelion insisted, hurrying to block Geralt’s exit. He gave him a sympathetic smile, and did his best to explain gently, “I’m not laughing at what you did. I was just surprised, and you looked so- unlike you. Sheepish.”

Geralt refused to look at him, muttering back, “I should have had more to drink.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Dandelion breathed, shaking his head. “I’m not blind. Certainly not to how sentimental I know you can be.” He leaned forward, reaching one arm around Geralt to invite an embrace. “How much you care for the people you love.”

Geralt was so tense that Dandelion half-expected him to pull away, but instead, his inhibitions seemed to melt away. He mirrored Dandelion’s gesture, wrapping one arm around him, while the other reached for Dandelion’s open hand. It was impossible not to feel adored at how tenderly Geralt gripped his hand with his own calloused, battle-worn one.

“It felt good, didn’t it?” Dandelion asked, giving voice to what he could read in Geralt’s body language. “Your hand in mine.”

“It did,” Geralt agreed, so earnest and straightforward that Dandelion could feel his heart melting. The way Geralt was looking at him and his hand was- well, it was very much similar to how he’d been looking at Dandelion during their dance. Now, with no doubts in mind, Dandelion could truly appreciate the lack of barriers between them.

He found himself pressing up against Geralt, enjoying the shared warmth between them. As he did so, though, Dandelion felt a distinct bulge edging against his own groin.

“Oh,” the word was an exhale, before Dandelion glanced up at Geralt. “Are you…?”

Geralt cleared his throat before replying, “Kissing you was- stimulating.”

“It could be more stimulating,” Dandelion invited, tone taking a sultry note. “If you’re willing.”

“Are you willing, Dandelion?” Geralt asked back at him. “Didn’t take you as one to tolerate sentiment in bedroom affairs.”

“Why, I’m hurt, Geralt,” Dandelion huffed, even as he took on a cheeky grin. “What sort of poet could I be if I had no taste for the romantic? I’d be happy to take every step in seducing you. I’ll write a sonnet on every fine feature of your face, or perhaps serenade you outside a moonlit window-”

Geralt rolled his eyes before silencing Dandelion as he moved in for a second kiss, more confident than the last. It was less of a surprise now, giving Dandelion ample time to reciprocate. He pressed back against Geralt, reveling in one of the few truly soft points on Geralt’s body. It was a different sensation than kissing a woman, still a bit uncertain, perhaps, but more in-tune, more harmonious and aware of one another’s anatomy. It grew heated quicker, and Dandelion found himself parting his lips in a submissive gesture. He’d be happy for Geralt to take the lead in this mutual exploration, happy to give him the room to decide what he liked, and what he didn’t.

Sure enough, Geralt’s tongue prodded against Dandelion’s lips, experimental, unsure. Dandelion gave him a moan, inviting more, and Geralt obliged him. It was easy to taste the vodka on Geralt’s tongue, sharp and tantalizing, just like Geralt himself.

But as soon as the kiss was getting interesting, Geralt was pulling back. Dandelion had no time to complain before he was being pushed back and towards the bed, at a pace he could just barely keep up with. Geralt must either have wanted to have done this for a long time or he was simply impatient.

“Geralt-” Dandelion called out just as his calves hit the bed and he stumbled backward.

With a cat-like reflex, Geralt reached out and caught Dandelion by his biceps, stilling him. In the back of his mind, Dandelion noted that Geralt’s hand was near entirely wrapped around his arm. He was very glad that the two of them weren’t foes at that moment.

Gently, as though Geralt was holding something very precious, he laid Dandelion down on the bed. Then, once again, Geralt leaned forward and captured his lips once more. He was forward this time, pressing his way into Dandelion’s mouth and brushing teeth against his lower lip. A rumble running through Geralt’s body, a deep, gratified, yet still wanting sound. Hunger. Desire.

It was only begrudgingly that Geralt pulled back again, this time to start shedding his armor, his swords, his many, many bandolier sacks. Dandelion was mesmerized by the sight, failing to recall any previous instances when Geralt had stripped down quite so thoroughly. He’d seen Geralt in an undershirt at night, but seldom any less than that, and certainly not in such intimate detail.

Dandelion’s inaction didn’t go on for long without catching some attention. Geralt paused just before he could get to his trousers to leer at Dandelion and give an unsatisfied huff. He took a step forward before Dandelion jumped to react.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he reassured Geralt, moving to unbutton his jacket. He couldn’t stand to think of Geralt ripping his good clothes in haste. Although, perhaps that wasn’t the most unappealing of images.

That seemed to keep Geralt at bay, and the room was filled with the sound of fabric crinkling and buckles hitting the floor. Dandelion wasn’t often picky about how much of his or his partner’s clothes were off, only that the deed could be done effectively. With Geralt, though, he had the impression that he liked a view to admire. Or perhaps, he simply liked Dandelion that much.

One way or the other, once Dandelion had worked his undershirt off, he was being set upon once again. Geralt grabbed his forearms and pushed him back onto the bed, kissing him even more intensely than before. Dandelion barely had the opportunity to react before Geralt’s tongue was pushing into his, their lips crushed together. It was almost too intense, but he’d have been lying to himself to say that there wasn’t something enticing about Geralt taking what he wanted, controlling the situation, dominating Dandelion.

It was new for Dandelion, but not unwelcome.

Yet despite Geralt’s domineering, it wasn’t long before he pulled back and paused, as though wondering if Dandelion truly wanted him to proceed.

Feeling a bit peeved and a bit more cheeky, Dandelion retorted, “Geralt, I swear, if you’re not ploughing me in the next minute, I’ll be writing in my next ballad what a limp-dicked-”

Geralt silenced him with a fast kiss, but he was back up and working his pants off just as quickly. Dandelion barely managed to unbutton his own pants before Geralt was carefully yet urgently tugging them off of him. As soon as both their groins were exposed, he was rutting his cock against Dandelion’s. No wonder Geralt was so confident; he had nothing to compensate for.

“Gods, Geralt,” Dandelion hissed, even more blood flowing to his erection. “Keep that up and we’ll be doing this more often.”

Geralt seemed oblivious to what he’d said, so focused on the friction between them. Soon, though, he seemed to grow dissatisfied, and backed off completely. He got up and made a show of looking through his discarded bags and pockets.

Dandelion, a little bewildered, couldn’t help a remark, “Is this really the time to be brewing a potion, Geralt?”

No reply, no surprise, but Geralt was quick to find what he seemed to be looking for. He returned to the bed with a kind of small ceramic tub, and placed it on the bedside table.

“Dare I ask?” Dandelion raised an eyebrow.

“You’d best not,” Geralt replied, and it was nigh impossible to tell if he was serious or only teasing.

Either way, Dandelion chose to heed the advice, and didn’t think terribly hard as Geralt reached two fingers into the tub and coated them in some sort of paste-like mixture.

Whatever it was precisely, it was cool and slick as Geralt pressed it to Dandelion’s flesh. Dandelion couldn’t help a shudder as those same fingers ran down against his perineum, seeking out what Geralt was interested in.

Dandelion hissed as he found his mark, unused to the sensation. Without a thought, he reached out to grasp Geralt for some sort of balance or reassurance. Geralt hesitated in his work, glancing up at Dandelion with a quirked brow. Any surprise promptly faded, and Geralt reached up to take Dandelion’s hand in his free one. 

Just like before, the simple act had Dandelion’s cheeks heating up, and that effect was only magnified as Geralt half-smiled at the sight of their fingers intertwining.

“I’d have held your hand long before now if I’d known it would make you smile,” Dandelion teased, doing all he could to keep up some semblance of control. “All those times you were so dour and stone-faced. I suppose I should have guessed that there was a sentimental romantic beneath it all.”

“And maybe I should have guessed the same about you sooner.”

Dandelion laughed, but it was cut short by a yelp as Geralt pushed a finger past a ring of muscle and inside of him.

“Oh, gods, that’s weird,” Dandelion hissed. “Is it that weird for women?”

No answer from Geralt, but he was undeterred, pushing further into Dandelion in a long, slow movement, face consumed and focused.

“This is meant to be pleasant for both parties, isn’t it?” Dandelion chattered on, breathless and squeezing Geralt’s hand. “Maybe we could-”

In mid-sentence, Dandelion’s whole body seemed to light up and he went rigid all over. His grip on Geralt’s hand became vice-like, and he let out a moan.

“Good?” Geralt asked, like he didn’t already know.

“Wha- what did you-” Dandelion started, but as the sensation faded, he blurted out, “Whatever you did, do it again.”

Like clockwork - and with a smug smile that did _not_ go unnoticed - Geralt curled his finger just so, and again, bright sparks of pleasure. Dandelion groaned through his teeth, like he was being stabbed in the most impossibly good way. He really hoped that no one could hear the two of them.

Any unpleasantness of Geralt pressing another finger in to join the first was forgotten as the pressure on the same spot increased. Dandelion would have sworn that the only thing keeping him from wriggling off the bed was Geralt’s grasp on him. Once again, his mutant strength was proving its utility.

By three fingers, Dandelion was more than impatient, even if perhaps Geralt was prudent given his size.

“Gera- ah!”

Another moan cut him off, Geralt having long since found the perfect motion to set Dandelion’s nerves alight.

Geralt hummed and turned his eyes up to look at Dandelion. He quirked his brow like he wanted Dandelion to finish, but the smile teasing at his lips told a different story.

“Come on, Geralt,” he pleaded. “I’m not going to-”

Again, he was cut off by his own groan as Geralt flexed his fingers.

“What was that, Dandelion?” Geralt asked, infuriatingly deadpan.

Dandelion made his best effort at a kick, little more than tapping Geralt’s back with his heel.

“You’re terrible. Is this how you’d treat a lady?”

“No,” Geralt said, ponderous. His eyes swept down Dandelion’s front and then back to his face, and the corners of his mouth quirked into a smile. “Not even close.”

Finally, the fingers pulled out, and Dandelion shuddered at the sudden, strange emptiness that he’d never have anticipated. It was an aspect he’d never considered as far as being on the receiving end of sex. But, at that moment, there was little time to ruminate.

Geralt shifted his hips to line himself up with Dandelion, still clasping his hand. It was hardly necessary, with Geralt’s available hand manipulating his waist, but Dandelion did his best to keep himself in an agreeable position.

“Don’t forget to breathe,” Geralt warned.

For a change, Dandelion heeded Geralt’s words, and took in a deep breath. Of course, that was the moment that Geralt chose to make his move.

He wasn’t sure if he’d even felt the first breach, but Dandelion certainly felt the aftershocks. He was glad for Geralt’s hand then, as he squeezed it as hard as his strength would allow. It didn’t hurt exactly, but Geralt was big and Dandelion could feel himself _straining_ to accommodate. He was positive that he was going to be sore for days afterward and they’d barely even started.

Geralt’s earlier slow pace became a godsend as he hesitated upon entry, pitching his hips just a bit to find a more comfortable angle. He grunted, and only then did Dandelion notice that he was wincing, like whatever he was feeling was overwhelming.

“It’s okay,” Dandelion gasped, brushed his thumb down Geralt’s hand. “Keep going, just like that, ease on in.”

With what had to have been great control, Geralt heeded the request, pressing their hips closer together. This time, Dandelion exhaled as it happened, which seemed to reduce the strain. It gave him the opportunity to take in Geralt’s expression, scrunched with effort and definite enjoyment. Dandelion found himself smiling at the sight, entirely distracted from any discomfort. He’d seen the witcher in many lights, but seldom had he seen how attentive Geralt could be.

All at once, Geralt’s hips stilled, and Dandelion could feel their hips pushed flush together. Somehow, some way, Geralt had made it work. What had been an intrusion was now a warm fullness, pulsing pleasure through Dandelion. It was intimate and intoxicating. Dandelion wondered if Geralt was feeling just the same.

It seemed likely, as Geralt took the opportunity to lean down and kiss Dandelion once more. It was warm and familiar and Dandelion was more than happy to return it. Geralt sucked gently at his lips, never fully breaking contact, and Dandelion returned the favor. He could have stayed like this all night, in this pleasant lull.

As gentle as he’d been since they’d been in bed, Geralt pulled away, simply to look into Dandelion’s eyes. It was strange, but he didn’t think he’d ever felt so earnestly cared for as he did in that moment.

“Geralt,” the name was a sigh on Dandelion’s lips, so familiar, but with new meaning.

“Dandelion,” Geralt breathed back.

They stayed like that for a moment, silent, Geralt still looking at him so intently.

“Feels nice,” Dandelion said dumbly.

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed. “You feel nice.”

“So do you.”

A slight quirk of Geralt’s hips had a new spark rush through him, reminding him of what they’d started.

On that thought, a playful smile came over Dandelion’s face.

“Well, now I know you can be gentle-” he teased. “-but you’ve yet to give me that ploughing I asked for.”

If Dandelion’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, he saw Geralt’s pupils dilate at the request. Affectionate as he was Geralt was still but a man, and a rumble ran through him.

With incredible ease, Geralt lifted himself back up and released Dandelion’s hand only to grab the backs of his thighs and push them forward. Dandelion was grateful then that, while he couldn’t match Geralt in strength, he was at least reasonably flexible.

“Comfortable?” Geralt asked, now looming over Dandelion like a proper barbarian.

“If you’re as good as the stories say, not for much longer,” Dandelion quipped back, winking.

“Stories,” Geralt echoed, shaking his head.

“What? You don’t think- _A-ahn_!”

As Geralt made the first pull of his hips outward, a flood of sensation rippled through Dandelion. How was Geralt so good at that? He had to have been privy to some secret witcher sex tactics that he kept quiet about.

Dandelion had no time at all to wonder any further before Geralt shoved back in, hitting Dandelion’s senses just as hard as before. A moan was torn from his lips and Dandelion found himself wrapping his legs around Geralt’s hips, grasping for any possible leverage. Geralt purred his approval and leaned down over Dandelion, keeping up a strong, steady rhythm of thrusting.

“Geralt,” Dandelion whined, in a most uncharacteristically meek tone. One such slip had to be expected with the absolute mayhem Geralt was playing with Dandelion’s senses.

It was good like nothing he’d ever felt, nothing he’d ever thought he could feel. Oh, how much he had to thank himself for pushing Geralt to dance.

Geralt seemed equally overwhelmed, eyes cloudy with effort yet so intense all at once. His pace seemed informed by both of their breathing, skin meeting skin in time with exhales.

“So good,” was all Geralt managed to growl out.

“More,” Dandelion begged between breaths, reaching up to grab around Geralt’s shoulders. “Don’t make me wait, please.”

The lust in Geralt’s eyes was unmistakable, but Dandelion had hardly any time to admire it before Geralt was crushing their lips together again, far less precise than previous kisses, but perhaps more intense. A particularly sharp thrust had Dandelion moaning into Geralt’s lips, and he thought he might lose himself there and then.

It wasn’t quite enough, but it felt good to edge so close. He’d never been quite so teased, not like this. Even in his fervor, Geralt was still somehow distinctly playful.

Pointedly, Geralt reared back up only to take Dandelion by both hands. That would have been appreciated on its own, but then Geralt tugged them upward until they were held over Dandelion’s head. The heat already in Dandelion’s face intensified at the oddly prone position. Feeling vulnerable was the last thing he associated with sex, but it wasn’t unwelcome, far from it even. It was a kind of exercise in trust, allowing Geralt to do as he pleased. And here, like this, he realized that he trusted that Geralt would allow no harm to come to him. Geralt was intimate with him, guarding him, protecting him.

But then, perhaps he had always put that trust in Geralt. In all their adventures together, Geralt had done everything in his power to keep him safe, put his own body and well-being on the line to do so.

Dandelion was very lucky to have Geralt, he realized all at once.

As soon as that realization hit, so did Dandelion’s climax, and it came just as hard and fast. Geralt, however, wasn’t quite done. As Dandelion's shoulders sagged and he cried out as cum splattered out onto his belly, Geralt only seemed to find renewed vigor. He growled, pressing closer to Dandelion as his thrusts sped up, chasing his own finish. Mutant stamina, Dandelion might have guessed.

It seemed almost painful when Geralt finally reached his peak, rearing up to let out a snarl and buck his hips against Dandelion’s. He didn’t pull out, and instead seemed quite fixed on getting his seed as deep inside of Dandelion as he could muster.

“Oh- oh, Gods, Geralt,” Dandelion mumbled, shivering and twitching at the foreign sensation and heat of it all. Yet despite any movement from him, Geralt remained like a vice, pinning him to the spot.

If anyone were to have interrupted them at that moment, Dandelion would have been shocked if Geralt wouldn’t have killed the perpetrator with his bare fists. It was an image that Dandelion had to admit held some appeal.

Even after he’d stilled entirely and gone soft, it took Geralt a moment or two before he shifted to pull out. Dandelion shuddered at the sensation. He’d always known orgasm to leave him sensitive, but this was new, as well as that same, strange sensation of emptiness.

Geralt let his arms drop back down and leaned back, raking his eyes up and down Dandelion, admiring his work. Dandelion couldn’t help but follow his gaze.

“I’m a mess,” Dandelion observed weakly. “And you’re- Well, you’re-”

“Just the way I usually look after a night out?” Geralt finished for him.

“I was going to say dashingly rugged and handsome. Which you certainly are after a night out.” Dandelion made a show of taking in Geralt’s appearance. “A little unkempt, maybe, but no less so for it. And no blood to be seen, which is appreciated.”

Dandelion hummed, reaching up to stroke Geralt’s chest. His fingers found a long claw-shaped scar, and he couldn’t help but frown as he realized that it was near-impossible to touch Geralt without touching a scar. The hair on his chest was broken up by them, and they came in every type, scratches, burns, bites, stab wounds. It was something he didn’t think about often enough, how much pain Geralt endured. And if Dandelion didn’t think about it often enough, then certainly most people didn’t give it a second thought.

“Don’t dwell on it,” Geralt reassured him, as though he could read Dandelion’s thoughts through his face alone. “I don’t.”

“Dwelling is what I do. What else is storytelling than dwelling on the past, emotions that have come and gone?”

Geralt grunted his acknowledgement, but didn’t argue further. Instead, he moved to settle down next to Dandelion. Not an easy feat, considering the bed’s small size and Geralt’s greater-than-average stature. It wouldn’t have been the first night that the two of them had tried to squeeze onto a too-small bed, but any awkwardness brought by closeness had dissolved. Dandelion found himself in a comfortable position, partially on top of Geralt, head resting on his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me how comfortable you are sooner?” Dandelion asked because, truly, Geralt’s pectoral muscles were just the right amount of firm.

Geralt didn’t dignify him with a reply, choosing instead to drape one arm across Dandelion’s shoulders.

“We should do this more often,” Dandelion said, even as a yawn overcame him. “Dancing, I mean.”

“Dancing, huh?” Geralt chuffed, even as Dandelion could hear the smile in his voice. “We’ll see.”

If Dandelion hadn’t been so tired, he might have laughed at how purely Geralt the statement was. Instead, he settled for a smile, and he reached out to twine their fingers together one more time. At that, Geralt relaxed at the gesture, and Dandelion found himself doing the same. 

It was strange, how he’d never imagined that the day would end like this, with new, yet familiar emotions between himself and Geralt. The kind of feelings that Dandelion could only put into music. And what else had started all of what they’d done but a song? Dandelion would have to thank the folks who had played in his stead that night.

Satisfied and comfortably warm in Geralt’s embrace, he found himself drifting off into the pleasant fog of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The two pieces of music I had in mind with the dancing would be Evening in the Tavern and the Dice Poker theme from Witcher 1. It's not terribly relevant, but seriously look up the game's soundtrack if you haven't already.


End file.
